


to surrender

by aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm



Series: you are my obsession [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Bad Touch Chancellor, Creepy Ardyn, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Ardyn, Mind Games, Possessive Behavior, Sexual Harassment, Spoilers, mentions of promptis
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-02
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-09-21 12:13:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9548531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm/pseuds/aaronwarnerisabeautifulstorm
Summary: What happens after Prompto falls off the train and makes a deal with Ardyn.Or the one where Ardyn gets what he craves and Prompto tries to fight him every step of the way. (What was not said in 'to claim')





	

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS AWFUL. DON'T READ IT (ALSO MY FIRST TIME WRITING +18 STUFF SO TREAD AT YOUR OWN DISCRETION). Instead of doing my homework I did this, send help ASAP

Prompto feels tears of frustration well up in his eyes. Surrounded, he stands with his back to a cliff, an abyss deeper than the darkness conquering all of Eos awaits him should he fall, and in front of him, a crowd of goblins, imps, Iron and Fire Giants threaten to put an end to his miserable life.

 

"Fucking-" he curses looking frantically for a way out, a blind spot where he cannot be attacked but his eyes only find a landscape of white lying before him, like Ardyn said, kilometers of snow and no sign of civilization. He's utterly alone. He's cold, his upper teeth clash constantly with the lower ones making an unbearable sound that reminds him too much of silhouettes of dust that should stay dead in his past, he shakes everywhere despite his attempts at preserving body heat and he can see, if he squints his eyes enough in the darkness, the tips of his fingers are now blue while the rest of his hand has turned the color of the dead, pale and grey.

 

He does not wish to know what the other parts of him must look like. He does not wish to die.

 

There are bruises scattered on his limbs, he can feel them pulsing on his biceps, on his knees from every time he has fallen down, his hand asides from being on the verge of becoming ice cubes are scratched, bloodied where the fingerless gloves have torn apart.

 

It's useless. Every failed try at escaping has left him more winded up than determined or assured. The real sad thing is that he believed for a while he could pull this off, beat the bad guy at his own game and return to his friends, to Noctis. But now he knows more than ever, this was a trap from the get go. There is just one way out. The price, though, comes at a cost Prompto is not sure he can afford, can part ways with yet.

 

It is scary, to even entertain the thought.

 

The inhuman growls of the giants reach his ears, the cold winter's cruel wind hits him from different directions and he feels himself falter, yield slowly to the pitiful circumstances, bringing back to his mind those moments years ago that made him feel hopeless and weak for entirely other reasons. Or maybe they are the same, he has no clue. Prompto closes his eyes and envisions behind his eyelids the eternal daydream, the everlasting flame: regal blue eyes, the small and fond upturn of lips, a heavy arm thrown around his shoulders, ebony spikes, the dumbfounded expression as Prompto fell from a moving train.

 

Alone, in the dark, he makes a choice.

 

He sees warm nights spent around a campfire, Gladio laid back with that forsaken green book he never puts down, Iggy trying to make the most out of the ingredients of the day and him and Noctis acting like five year olds, playing fools and nonethewisers, making eyes at each other while Ignis chides them for not helping with dinner and Gladio huffs and calls them both ‘puny idiots’.

 

And he has to do what he must.

 

Ardyn Izunia, something vicious and dark about him. His alarming words, theatrical gestures and veiled threats and the unnerving way he says Prompto's name, slighty deeper, slightly out of breath, husky, deep, tasting the two syllables with an unhealthy dose of amusement and entitlement, as if he had waited a long time to say it and after he had done it, he did not want to let it go. Months after their first meeting, the blond continued to have nightmares about him and the nature of his fixation that, at present, he understood all too well.

 

And he has to do what he must.

 

His heart a living tumor, he lets his legs fold beneath him, meet the merciless snow. As a samurai demon walks towards him, he whispers "Help me..... Please"

 

At first, nothing happens. Only the drag of feet, paws, claws and swords across the freezing ground. He tries again "I beg you..I-I surrender. I'll do anything you want just-"

 

The monsters made of shadows stop in their tracks, as if in a trance, as f they are puppets on strings. The master has pulled their strings and they all stop moving. Red eyes peer at Prompto but do not do much else. He swallows and on his knees, he waits for the inevitable. Then, the daemons start moving again, they separate from each other and part the way to make a path leading right to the blond who shakes, trembles on the spot. It's like watching a knife slicing butter, creating a road for itself.

 

The wielder of the knife appears, walks among dark creatures without a care in the world, his gait composed, practiced, controlled and his smile has Prompto rethinking who is the greatest danger. He knows the answer but his only guarantee of survival is that this man, due to a reason he prefers not to dwell on because he might end up regretting this choice, won’t kill him. He does not want Prompto dead. Yet.

 

His robes flutter in the wind, his hat remains on top of his head though, unaffected by the weather. Even the elements seem to be in his favor.

 

The blond holds his ground, looks up with hardened eyes, his hands hanging dead at his sides. He hopes he can keep the tough façade, even with all the shaking and trembling he’s doing.

 

His heartbeat fastens the more those expensive boots get closer.

   

The Chancellor of Niflheim stops right in front of him, his hand repeats the motion he did what feels like a lifetime ago in a fire lit camp. This time around, Prompto is unable to back away, **can’t** move back, so he stays still and lets that disgusting hand take him roughly by the jaw. The man’s fingers dig in his skin; it takes all Prompto has in him to not fight this, he thinks of everything he has to lose if he refuses and gathers his resolve.

 

Shine of teeth underneath the moonlight “Took you long enough. I was beginning to wonder whether you had died in my absence. That would have been a shame, don’t you think?”

 

Prompto’s on hair trigger temper, he is too tired to deal with this guy’s bullshit. He would probably punch himself in the future but he can’t think out of his fear and exaltation. The cornered prey lashing out at the predator.

 

“Not that you would have let it happen without having your fun first, mother-“

 

Ardyn’s thumb slides to the side of Prompto’s mouth, where it traces the outline of his lower lip in what he may think is a provocative gesture but leaves Prompto reeling and sinking his nails on his abused palms instead.

 

“Have I ever told you how much I **adore** your mouth?” he says and his thumb presses down, forcing the lip under it to show the row of teeth lying behind. “But really, using it to insult your one and only savior… That is a _no, no,_ little boy. You should be grateful to me.”

 

The gun man can’t help it. He twists his face away and allows his weight to rest on his back- gravity attracts his butt to the snow and when he falls, he slides out of reach pulling his body with his forearms and legs. He is disgusted, he is mad, he is upset, he is offended by the dirty implications of every word he says.

 

“It’s your fault I’m even stuck here!” he yells, throws glares at the chancellor as Ardyn closes the new formed gap between them.

 

“ **No**. It’s _your_ own fault for thinking too much of your abilities, you overestimated yourself. Turns out you’re not so special after all without your friends to help you. Prompto Argentum is nothing more than a pawn in-“

 

And he’s even madder that he finds himself affected by this nonsense, touched somewhere deep where he is still a fragile, fat boy.

 

The blond feels his blood boil and he is the one interrupting this round “Fuck you! You’re a delusional, psychopathic monster if you think that anyone would have made it out here with no weapons. This bullshit dare was rigged from the beginning. What, can’t get what you want without pulling stunts like these? Without throwing a horde of daemons at me?” Prompto seethes, growls.

 

Ardyn just raises a brow, tilts his head to the side and puts a finger to his chin “Well, well. I must admit you surprise me more and more. I’m amazed by your creative manner of speech, by the words that roll off with such ease out of those gorgeous lips. Please, do tell; are those the same lips you use to service that pathetic excuse of a King?”

 

Something shifts inside him; a reckless motive begs to be released.

 

He grabs a handful of snow and throws it to Ardyn’s face. He doesn’t even check to see if he hit him, he gets up on his frozen limbs and makes a run for it. Before he can get too far, however, a vice like grip takes hold of the nape of his neck and suddenly, he’s being pulled backwards. Prompto struggles for a while, kicks and claws, and utters profanities but eventually he gets worn out, he tires due to sleep deprivation, exhaustion, his wounds and the extreme temperature. The spark within him is slowly fading.

 

The hand on his neck tightens, applies further pressure causing Prompto to wince in pain. He whimpers, and as he does, he feels a cool breath on his ear entirely at odds with the warm touch on his neck, the tingle of hair other than his own and the uncomfortable sensation that follows someone’s inappropriate closeness to him.

 

“Had you been anybody else, Prompto, that cute gesture of yours just now would have gained you a well deserved slap on the cheek” His voice might have come out in the normal intonation he always uses yet Prompto can feel there is something off in it. Maybe he is pissed.

 

Prompto tries to move his neck in order to keep his skin and the other man’s skin from touching distance but the hand on him won’t budge.

 

“Seems to me you have forgotten what your place is in this situation. How about I give you a reminder, huh, dearest?”

 

Oh no.

 

Prompto doesn’t know why but he swears he can feel the night turn darker.

Ardyn forces Prompto forwards, pushes him while still holding him by the neck like an unruly child in the direction of the crowd of daemons. Prompto’s legs tumble on the way, move clumsily and inefficiently, imitating a baby deer taking its first steps. In his direct line of sight is the vast world of nightmares of the underworld, their mouths all salivating at the prospect of a quick meal. Prompto can only think about how very fucked he is going to be in the near future.

 

Nonetheless, he presses his lips together to stop any sound that could betray his panic-he doesn’t want to give Ardyn the satisfaction of hearing him beg once more.

 

That is the precise instant when a snaky, terrible monster emerges from the ground. Prompto’s eyes widen as snow rains around him, over him, to let the ugly creature crawl to the surface. But Prompto doesn’t truly feel terror until the moonlight hits the daemon in a certain way, permitting Prompto to see the distinguishable features of a horrid humanoid female face twisted in a hateful grimace. Sharp razor teeth glint at him-his mind is traveling though his memories to a tunnel of freezing caves.

 

It’s a Naga.

 

And it’s right in front of him, one meter away.

 

The hand holding him is gone. Prompto begins crying out a mantra of ‘No please, nooo’, stepping back from the creature who pierces him with blank eyes. Irrational fear blinds him, forces him to call out for the man he would have never in a million years thought to call for help. He’s not even cold anymore, adrenaline pumping hard inside his veins, his thoughts spinning wildly in his head. He hasn’t realized either in his desperation he is almost back to the edge of the cliff.

 

“No, not this!. **Anything but this!** Ardyn I’m sorry, I’m so sorry- I didn’t mean to. I take it all back!!!”

 

His back collides with something hard. An arm wraps around his waist, fingers settle on the jut of his naked hipbone and the other hand covers his Adam’s apple, splays out on the front of his neck.

 

Ardyn chuckles darkly, mean and creepy behind him “Was it enough time of self reflection already? Have you finally learned from your mistakes?”

 

The Naga grumbles in an inhuman voice, inquires about its missing baby.

 

Prompto knows that this will be the most painful thing he’ll ever say “Yes. You were right. And I’m sorry. I’ll… I’ll do what you want” he gets out through gritted teeth.

 

The chancellor sighs “Why do I have the feeling you’re not being truthful?” his fingers rub circles on the blond’s hip “But nevermind, we’ve wasted too much time on idle things”

 

“What do you think, Prompto, of moving locations to someplace _warmer_?”

 

His eyes fall shut before he has the chance to answer.

 

* * *

* * *

 

He’s only sure of two things: he’s inside an unknown room and his clothes are still on him.

 

“Enjoyed your nap? Did you dream of me?”

 

And he is not alone.

 

He disentangles himself from the satin sheets in a hurry. The gunner’s eyes follow the origin of the comment, which is standing at the side of the bed and staring at Prompto with poorly concealed hunger in his orbs. He is tempted to tell him he only sees the man in his nightmares but bites his tongue, holds it in.

 

Feeling a chill descend down his spine, he looks down and sighs in relief at seeing his clothes are still on him and not anywhere else. Although the sensation of nakedness perseveres due to the invasive stare he’s being subjected to, he is calmer that at least he possesses the barrier of layers.

 

Ardyn notices his actions “I wouldn’t have done anything while you were unconscious. I am a gentleman above everything else”

 

Yeah, right. Then why was he smiling so pervasively while he said so? No, Prompto does not trust this demon in wolf’s clothing. It would have been less fun, is what the man must be thinking. Instead of acknowledging that he was indeed worried about what he could have done, he looks around this new environment he’s now stuck in.

 

His face meets him everywhere he looks (yellow hair, flushed cheeks, freckled cheeks and shoulders, confused blue eyes), it takes him a whole minute to also see the bed he's in and Ardyn at his side, too close for comfort. The walls are mirrors, he realizes. The bastard put him in a room full of mirrors. His gaze turns to the ceiling and he gets an upside down view of the room.

 

“Where are we?” he asks because he has to.

 

Ardyn ignores him completely.

 

“You are a virgin, are you not?”

 

What.

 

“What?”

 

Prompto stares flabbergasted. He flinches and recoils as if he was touched by a burning candle.

 

Then, Ardyn hauls him up by the hands and crushes their bodies together, chest to chest, noses almost clashing with each other. Prompto feels the entirety of Ardyn’s anatomy pressing against him in all the wrong places, feels him entwine his fingers with his own and feels the man’s free hand run down the expanse of his side to rest on his hip.

 

His naked toes on the cold ceramic floor make way for the discovery that Ardyn removed his shoes at some point.

 

Spite and disgust drive his whole being in that moment “No, I’m not.” He whispers in a monotone, his mouth within the other man’s breathing space “What you said back there? It was true. I do love to suck _my King’s_ dick using these lips. I love sucking him off and feeling the weight of his massive-“

 

His ears are ringing. Blinding heat scorches his right cheek, tears pool at the corners of his eyes. His mouth is open, stopped in mid-action of retelling one of his fantasies to the revolting chancellor. His brain is still stuck on the visual of his best friend shoving his dick down his throat.

 

He doesn’t understand, at first, what happened. But when he sees through his blurry vision the unhinged expression on Ardyn’s visage-the black sclera and black veins that quickly recede- he understands he has been slapped. He tastes salt and metal on his tongue, which he dazedly moves to run over his lower lip where the taste is stronger. It’s blood. Ardyn used enough strength to break his lip.

 

Finally, a tear slides down-falls to the ground like an omen of what is to come.

 

Ardyn shakes his head, inhales deeply to calm down and cups Prompto’s cheeks with his palms. The smaller man does not move, does not do anything at all except feel the tears cascade down his face (the slap took the fight out of him, whatever was left). It’s all useless, it’s all futile, no matter what he does Ardyn will have what he wants. He is tired of fighting for nothing.  More importantly, if he just surrenders, maybe-

 

Maybe he will get to see his friends and Noctis one last time.

 

“I’m sorry” Ardyn apologizes while Prompto looks down at the floor. “I..I’m very sorry. This is not how I would normally behave” His breath is a rotten thing, a foul beast that reveals what hides behind that human exterior. “But I detest filthy lies, especially from you. I will not accept it”

 

Why even ask if he knew it was a lie? Self gratification?

 

His eyes are burning holes through Prompto’s skin but he refuses to return the look. His face is drawn closer, the man leans a bit to lick the trail of red on Prompto’s chin, follows it to his lips leaving a wet path in his wake. And Ardyn’s mouth at last captures Prompto’s own in a feverish kiss, pins him down with the everlasting force of his want. Prompto closes his eyes and thinks of another’s pair of lips meeting his.

 

It’s nothing like any of the kisses he has ever had. It’s nothing like his first kiss had been-a girl that was casually black haired, had an aloof personality, a stunning pair of blue eyes and kissed him close mouthed, soft, a quick peck and that was the end of it. It’s nothing like the time he made out with a random guy who, for an inebriated Prompto, resembled Noctis too closely-they were both sober but it still had been terrible and after the party they couldn’t look at each other without getting ashamed. It’s nothing like that miraculous time he kissed Noctis by accident and although the angle had been off, it was for a moment, the pinnacle of his teenage years.

 

This isn’t like that at all. This is Ardyn abusing his lips, dominating him just like he exerts domain over everything he does and everything he owns. He sucks violently on Prompto’s split lip, forces the blood to flow to the surface and consumes it as if it’s the secret to eternal life. He feels fingers tangle on his yellow locks, feels them pull to push their heads to the point of merging. With teeth and tongue, Ardyn pries Prompto’s cavity open, pushes his way in and the blond gets the impression that he has wanted to do this for a long time. Has the impression that Ardyn has desired to violate his face like he’s doing since forever, if the passion in which he joins their tongues savagely is anything to go by.

 

A moan escapes him accidentally, as the chancellor separates their tongues only to use his to mimic the act of penetration with it. He shoves his tongue in an out of Prompto’s lips, stops for a second to roam around the territory behind his teeth and rub his palate at a painful rhythm; it’s unfair how good it feels. The blond is conflicted, a side of him is disgusted (this is not who he should be kissing, he doesn’t want this) but his weaker side wishes to surrender to the easy pleasure.

 

A knee gets in between Prompto’s legs. There is something hard pressing against his thigh creating torturous friction against his crotch. He blocks his brain to not think about what it is, blocks his brain from processing the stirring he feels in his belly.

 

He’s being mouth fucked and his hand latches onto the older man’s shoulder to keep himself from crumbling to the floor, his legs are made of butter, they’re beginning to melt. This is the only thing he does in reciprocation; he is paralyzed due to fear of urging the man on or giving him the wrong idea that he somehow wants this. Ardyn’s hands are fire traveling his body, one stops at his throat, the other molds to the curve of his ass-they two hands squeeze.

 

He chokes from the pressure being applied to his neck and shivers at the unwelcome touch below the lower back. The experience is similar to a bath of scalding water, his skin prickles wanting to be peeled so he can erase the traces Ardyn’s fingers have left. Prompto wants to cry, he wants to shout, he wants to curse The Astrals for allowing this vile event to occur. He freezes, lies pliant for Ardyn to use at his leisure and forces himself to block the images of Noctis from his mind because the more he thinks about him, the filthier, and uglier he feels.

 

After a lifetime of suffering, the chancellor releases Prompto’s mouth. He lets go, takes a step back and when his head separates from Prompto’s, a string of saliva follows him, connecting him and the traumatized boy. The man smiles, nasty and cruel, a satisfied flame dancing in his eyes. His joy is extremely obvious and it sickens the young man how the other is so thrilled by this.

 

“Chocolate and vanilla” he licks his lips, reciting what Prompto ate earlier today (is it still today?) on the train. Death and decay, those are the flavors he perceived in the man’s tongue. “Delicious”

 

All the while, Prompto has not stopped crying.

 

Hazel eyes explore every inch of his body, phantom touches on his thighs, arms, elbows, hands, the hollow in the middle of his collarbones, his mouth again, his nose and his eyes. “Come here” he says, no room for denial or hesitation. An order disguised as a suggestion.

 

Prompto wills his unresponsive legs to move towards him.

 

Dead blue eyes stare impassively at Ardyn’s gloved palms as they grab him by the buckle and start unfastening his belt. Quick fingers pull it out of the belt loops, the white looped snake falls to the ground, the metal rings loudly in the silent atmosphere. His pants are next; Ardyn’s knuckles brush the patch of skin under his belly button at the same time he unzips him and slides the skin tight pants down his long legs, lets it pool at his feet. Automatically, Prompto steps out of them and stands now exposed in the room decorated with his reflection, with his pale and freckled slim legs and his black plain boxer briefs, his dick half hard beneath the thin material due to previous stimulation.

 

When those foreign fingers tease him, play around the hem of his boxers, and then draw the outline of his length through his underwear, he blacks out for what must have been minutes. During a brief period of time, he’s gone. He regains his bearings a while later only to find himself butt naked in front of a still very much dressed Ardyn that is giving him a glazed look. Prompto feels a ton of bricks clogging his airway because of how the man is devouring him without laying hands on him. He is looking at Prompto as if he has never seen someone as beautiful as him before, but also as if he’s intimately familiar with the shape of his body; his pupils fly to his jutting hipbones, to his cock framed by his wiry thighs, to his bony knees, to his feet, the flat surface of his stomach, his shoulders and his hardened nipples almost with the fondness Prompto directs at his favorite sweets, the ones he does not get tired of eating despite knowing the taste by heart.

 

He hates the twisted attention Ardyn is directing at him. It gets worse when his eyes catch Prompto’s and he whistles. He fucking whistles. “What a sight” the chancellor of Niflheim comments, enamored by the blond’s physique “Not even Altissia can compare to the plains and valleys that compose you, my beautiful Prompto” The compliment rubs him the wrong way, instead of flattered the blond is repulsed.

 

He sneers but stays put. Ardyn sighs “How I wish I had the willpower enough to resist your naked form, but alas, I suppose I am but a mortal man and as a man I’m a helpless slave to my desires.”

 

Immediately after he finishes speaking, he pushes Prompto to the bed and flips him on his stomach. The blond receives a mouthful of pillows. His bare ass is in the air, at perfect display for the man behind him, ready for the taking. Humiliated, blood floods his cheeks, and his freckles stand out in shame. He can see it because there are mirrors too on the wall at the rear of the bed, and thanks to that he can also see Ardyn climbing on the bed-he has not even taken his cloak off-and gets a high definition image of the man towering over Prompto’s vulnerable frame. The older man lowers his head to press a road of kisses throughout his slightly protruding spine, pauses when he reaches the dimples on the small of Prompto’s back to suck dark bruises on them. Meanwhile, his hands have taken residence on the spot where his ass merges with his thighs and he pushes them wider.

 

It hits him then. This is really happening. This is not a nightmare. This is real. He is about to get fucked by the man he hates the most in this world, the one who has ruined everything and this will be his first time as well. This is wrong; his first time has been reserved for someone else ever since his thirteenth birthday.

 

He buries his face on the pillows and prays to die smothered by them.

 

His train of thoughts is interrupted the moment he feels a wet something touch his most private area. The one he has touched occasionally while pleasuring himself, thinking it was Noctis who-

 

The flexible organ circles his opening and Prompto feels his cock stand to attention, his legs threaten to double. He lets out a pornographic moan when what he now knows to be Ardyn’s tongue pushes inside the ring of muscle. The wet sounds produced from this chain of actions cause Prompto dizziness. A bead of precum slides from his dick, heat spreads through him but not out of discomfort this time. Ardyn is all business and zero foreplay, eating Prompto with gusto. He suctions at his rim, practically making out with it, worshipping Prompto by tasting his inner walls with his insatiable tongue.

 

It’s a strange sensation, having something other than his fingers up his ass, but is not a bad one however and this makes him feel insanely guilty and disgusting. He is not supposed to enjoy it. It’s easier said than done though, taking into consideration that a hand has moved to masturbate Prompto on the front too. Debauched, he’s dripping everywhere: saliva on his ass, precum on his length, sweat out of his every pore. The face in the mirror is a stranger, a shameless boy who will take whatever he is given, and he doesn’t know how he is meant to be able to see himself later and not reject what he sees after this terrible union.

 

He wants it so bad for the one behind him to be Noctis. He wants Noctis to be the one sucking his balls. He wants Noctis to be the one peppering his perineum with open mouthed kisses. He wants Noctis to be the one making love to his scrotum.

 

This is rape, he repeats mentally. Simultaneously, Ardyn takes his face out from the inside of his buttocks, his lips red and hair messed up from the effort he has just made. He swallows, staring at Prompto’s obscene face in the mirror, his pouty and bitten mouth, his red rimmed eyes, the delicious coloring of his skin.

 

This is rape, he repeats mentally. The man looks at him heatedly, his pupils blown out as he pulls his arousal out of his pants. He inserts his fingers inside the young man’s mouth, and the gun man makes sure to coat them well. Hollows out his cheeks and watches Ardyn’s desire consume him entirely.

 

This is rape, he repeats mentally. The stretch and burn of fingers is a welcome normality in this fucked up situation and Prompto embraces it, sobs over his forearms-the phalanges forcing his walls to expand, they curve and move this way and that and pry moans, groans and more shameful noises out of him when they find that bundle of nerves that make him curl his toes and witness a sky full of starts behind his eyelids.

 

He is going to rape me.

 

Prompto sniffles helplessly in that interval in which Ardyn’s fingers exit him and he pushes back desperately, like a cheap whore, hungry for it. Ardyn lets out a pleasured sound and Prompto wishes for him to die, that this fucker gets murdered in the most painful way possible.

 

“ **Mine** ” Ardyn burns the words against his shoulder blades, in that space that divides them, thrusting inside the tight heat of the blond’s entrance. “ ** _My Prompto_** , mine and mine alone. You belonged to me all along, from the start” for the first time he sounds frantic, his eyes have not fallen away from Prompto’s sweaty and tense figure under him, as if he is afraid to take his eyes off from his prize out of fear of it slipping from his yearning grasp.

 

Prompto shakes his head in vain. For it, he is held by the neck and pushed down. “Yes. The brat thought he could have you, take you away from me like he has taken everything else. But does he know that you were meant for me? Meant for me to have? For me to held? Only to be molded by my hand? The proof was right under his nose and never saw it”

 

The blond drools over the sheets, the pain is excruciating as inch after inch of Ardyn’s length fills him to the brim but he dreads to think of the alternative, of what would have happened had the man not decided to prepare him and just took him dry.

 

Ardyn then closes his hand, the one that is not on his nape, around his wrist in a vice like grip. It’s the wrist. That one wrist. The part of his body he loathes with everything he has because it is that one thing that marks him as an outsider. As a monster. And the chancellor leans down once he is balls deep inside the blond and sinks his teeth into the barcode marring his flesh. His sharp canines make that blemish his own, like he has owned the rest of his young body.

 

Prompto screams bloody murder.

 

Ardyn unsheathes his dick until the head is the only part not out of the twitching hole. He moves back in, merciless. His sack slaps against Prompto’s backside and the sound is deafening. Prompto tries to pull his arm away but he finds he is unable to unless he wants his wrist ripped open, assaulted by the man’s hateful mouth and member.

The fifth time the chancellor penetrates Prompto, is when his fangs retreat from the sheep’s wool. Rivers of blood stain the white sheets, the white skin where it’s contained.

 

Soon enough, the lewd noises of skin colliding with skin, of pants, of moans, of grunts, and howls are the sole orchestra inside the room. Prompto’s cock is over stimulated due to the friction provided by the bed under him. His lust, his need of coming is unrestrainable now that he began enjoying the act, thanks to every precise hit to his prostate. His knees and elbows quiver, he doesn’t know for how long he is going to be able to hold out.

 

Ardyn on top of him does not look any better. He’s frazzled, unravels his emotions through fucking the living daylights out of Prompto, his pace increasing along with his thrusts. It is not too long after when, while shoving his dick particularly hard inside the gunner and slipping one hand to wrap around the boy’s shaft, Prompto orgasms-a choked whimper escapes him, his world turns an overwhelming shade of white and he shoots his load partly on the bed, partly on his stomach.

 

At the sight of Prompto’s climax, Ardyn can’t help but fall victim to his own pleasure. He bites one dot covered shoulder while he saturates the boy’s inner walls with his cum.

 

Prompto, still dazed from his high, feels Ardyn weight surround him. Feels more aware than ever of the merging of their bodies, of the points where they are connected because none of them have moved to separate.

 

His stomach rumbles, acid juices are pumped at fast speed to his mouth and he passes out. But before he does, the last thing he hears is Ardyn Izunia saying:

 

_“I finally made it. I finally have you”_

 

* * *

 

It will be months later when Prompto will dare to ask him “Why were you not as cruel as I imagined you’d be? I mean, rape is rape. It was bad, it was hellish, but you could have made it a lot worse”

 

And he will answer so damn proud of himself, so blinded by his ego “You are perfectly right. I could have made it more painful. I could have made it a terrible experience. One you would not have been able to forget, one just capable of making you tremble and soil your pants at the mention of my name. And I do love your tear stricken face. However, I think it was more productive to get inside your head by making you like it. Hurt is a mighty weapon but conflict, self doubt… those are the monsters that truly kill you, Prompto Argentum.”

**Author's Note:**

> KUDOS TO EVERYONE WHO READ THIS


End file.
